Being asked about your book

The discussion in one of the online book groups today started with “does everyone else hate being asked about what you’re reading and what it’s about?”

My favorite answer was “No one ever asks me, because they know I’ll tell them.”

Also, was “I enjoy telling the world, hoping that they’ll pick up the book and we can discuss it.”

Personally, I love discussing books and recommending them. I also love getting book recommendations, especially unsolicited ones.  I find myself giving unsolicited recommendations if I’m especially excited about a book.  My friends and family know this about me.  Some ask.  Some avoid the topic.

There are benefits to an Antilibrary


I loved this article.  The original is linked above.  I have more than my share of an Antilibrary.  It’s to remind me of what there still is to be learned, I believe.  I don’t usually buy or borrow books that are of topics I am not interested in, so there are more books in my antilibrary than I can fit on my Book stack.


The value of owning more books than you can read

Or, how I learned to stop worrying and love my tsundoku.

  • Many readers buy books with every intention of reading them only to let them linger on the shelf.
  • Statistician Nassim Nicholas Taleb believes surrounding ourselves with unread books enriches our lives as they remind us of all we don’t know.
  • The Japanese call this practice tsundoku, and it may provide lasting benefits.

I love books. If I go to the bookstore to check a price, I walk out with three books I probably didn’t know existed beforehand. I buy second-hand books by the bagful at the Friends of the Library sale, while explaining to my wife that it’s for a good cause. Even the smell of books grips me, that faint aroma of earthy vanilla that wafts up at you when you flip a page.

The problem is that my book-buying habit outpaces my ability to read them. This leads to FOMO and occasional pangs of guilt over the unread volumes spilling across my shelves. Sound familiar?

But it’s possible this guilt is entirely misplaced. According to statistician Nassim Nicholas Taleb, these unread volumes represent what he calls an “antilibrary,” and he believes our antilibraries aren’t signs of intellectual failings. Quite the opposite.

Living with an antilibrary

(Photo from Wikimedia)

Umberto Eco signs a book. You can see a portion of the author’s vast antilibrary in the background.

Taleb laid out the concept of the antilibrary in his best-selling book The Black Swan: The Impact of the Highly Improbable. He starts with a discussion of the prolific author and scholar Umberto Eco, whose personal library housed a staggering 30,000 books.

When Eco hosted visitors, many would marvel at the size of his library and assumed it represented the host’s knowledge — which, make no mistake, was expansive. But a few savvy visitors realized the truth: Eco’s library wasn’t voluminous because he had read so much; it was voluminous because he desired to read so much more.

Eco stated as much. Doing a back-of-the-envelope calculation, he found he could only read about 25,200 books if he read one book a day, every day, between the ages of ten and eighty. A “trifle,” he laments, compared to the million books available at any good library.

Drawing from Eco’s example, Taleb deduces:

Read books are far less valuable than unread ones. [Your] library should contain as much of what you do not know as your financial means, mortgage rates, and the currently tight real-estate market allows you to put there. You will accumulate more knowledge and more books as you grow older, and the growing number of unread books on the shelves will look at you menacingly. Indeed, the more you know, the larger the rows of unread books. Let us call this collection of unread books an antilibrary. [Emphasis original]

Maria Popova, whose post at Brain Pickings summarizes Taleb’s argument beautifully, notes that our tendency is to overestimate the value of what we know, while underestimating the value of what we don’t know. Taleb’s antilibrary flips this tendency on its head.

The antilibrary’s value stems from how it challenges our self-estimation by providing a constant, niggling reminder of all we don’t know. The titles lining my own home remind me that I know little to nothing about cryptography, the evolution of feathers, Italian folklore, illicit drug use in the Third Reich, and whatever entomophagy is. (Don’t spoil it; I want to be surprised.)

“We tend to treat our knowledge as personal property to be protected and defended,” Taleb writes. “It is an ornament that allows us to rise in the pecking order. So this tendency to offend Eco’s library sensibility by focusing on the known is a human bias that extends to our mental operations.”

These selves of unexplored ideas propel us to continue reading, continue learning, and never be comfortable that we know enough. Jessica Stillman calls this realization intellectual humility.

People who lack this intellectual humility — those without a yearning to acquire new books or visit their local library — may enjoy a sense of pride at having conquered their personal collection, but such a library provides all the use of a wall-mounted trophy. It becomes an “ego-booting appendage” for decoration alone. Not a living, growing resource we can learn from until we are 80 — and, if we are lucky, a few years beyond.


(Photo from Flickr)

Book swap attendees will no doubt find their antilibrary/tsundoku grow.

I love Taleb’s concept, but I must admit I find the label “antilibrary” a bit lacking. For me, it sounds like a plot device in a knockoff Dan Brown novel — “Quick! We have to stop the Illuminati before they use the antilibrary to erase all the books in existence.”

Writing for the New York Times, Kevin Mims also doesn’t care for Taleb’s label. Thankfully, his objection is a bit more practical: “I don’t really like Taleb’s term ‘antilibrary.’ A library is a collection of books, many of which remain unread for long periods of time. I don’t see how that differs from an antilibrary.”

His preferred label is a loanword from Japan: tsundokuTsundoku is the Japanese word for the stack(s) of books you’ve purchased but haven’t read. Its morphology combines tsunde-oku (letting things pile up) and dukosho (reading books).

The word originated in the late 19th century as a satirical jab at teachers who owned books but didn’t read them. While that is opposite of Taleb’s point, today the word carries no stigma in Japanese culture. It’s also differs from bibliomania, which is the obsessive collecting of books for the sake of the collection, not their eventual reading.

The value of tsundoku

Granted, I’m sure there is some braggadocious bibliomaniac out there who owns a collection comparable to a small national library, yet rarely cracks a cover. Even so, studies have shown that book ownership and reading typically go hand in hand to great effect.

One such study found that children who grew up in homes with between 80 and 350 books showed improved literacy, numeracy, and information communication technology skills as adults. Exposure to books, the researchers suggested, boosts these cognitive abilities by making reading a part of life’s routines and practices.

Many other studies have shown reading habits relay a bevy of benefits. They suggest reading can reduce stress, satisfy social connection needs, bolster social skills and empathy, and boost certain cognitive skills. And that’s just fiction! Reading nonfiction is correlated with success and high achievement, helps us better understand ourselves and the world, and gives you the edge come trivia night.

In her article, Jessica Stillman ponders whether the antilibrary acts as a counter to the Dunning-Kruger effect, a cognitive bias that leads ignorant people to assume their knowledge or abilities are more proficient than they truly are. Since people are not prone to enjoying reminders of their ignorance, their unread books push them toward, if not mastery, then at least a ever-expanding understanding of competence.

“All those books you haven’t read are indeed a sign of your ignorance. But if you know how ignorant you are, you’re way ahead of the vast majority of other people,” Stillman writes.

Whether you prefer the term antilibrary, tsundoku, or something else entirely, the value of an unread book is its power to get you to read it.

What are you reading Wednesday

My current audiobook is The Marsh King’s Daughter. I am supposed to finish it for bookclub tonight, but it’s not going to happen.  I have just over 2 hours left, and only one hour of car time this afternoon.

I am working on The Opposite of Maybe, just because it sounded interesting.

Daisy Jones and the Six is still travelling around with me, in my purse, but I am not getting very far in it.  It’s a good book, but I haven’t been reading paper books much these days, unless they are library books.

Stages of the Reader

I didn’t really do these in order. I hit stages 1 & 2 as a child.

I hit stage 6 when my kids were little. It wasn’t really no books, just kid books.

Stage 7 was when the kids were more independent and I had more time to myself.

Stage 3 was not really part of me until I was confident enough to own my bookworm status, as a full adult.

I hit stage 4 on and off, but mostly when I am on the bus or waiting in line.

Stage 8 is ongoing. I don’t like to lend or give away books. I tend to buy new copies to give to people if I’m going to share.

Stage 9 is when I work book sales, or just generally talk about books. It’s not only the next generation. It’s the previous and current ones, too.

Stage 5 is when I am trying to finish all of my books at once. When my brain tries to tell me that I am able to start every one of the books I own, plus every one I want to own, and every book in every library. Logically, I know it’s not going to happen, but it does frustrate me that I can’t. This also happens when I have deadlines on books, for bookclub or for an ARC book that needs a review, and I’m coming close to missing them.

What are you reading Wednesday

My current audiobook is Class Mom. I am almost finished with it. I needed a breather after reading a few heavy topics. This is a short, funny one.

I am working my way through the Roald Dahl books. I am almost finished with The Twits.

I started The People We Hate at the Wedding. I am not even far enough into it to know what it’s about, other than wedding invitations went out to the family in the book.

Favorite Roald Dahl book

The question came up on one of my online groups… What is your favorite Roald Dahl book?  I realized that I hadn’t read many of his books.  Of course, James and the Giant Peach, Charlie and the Chocolate Factory and Charlie and the Great Glass Elevator, and Dirty Beasts came to mind, since I’d read all of them.  There are so many more.  So… I checked a bunch of his books out from the library.  I won’t be reviewing them, since they are short books, and well-known, too.  I finished George’s Marvelous Medicine last night, and I will be moving on to another soon.  I read a few heavy thinking books recently, and my brain needed the break.  Children’s books don’t usually have a lot of things to stress me out, and I know exactly what I am getting with Roal Dahl books.

So far, though, Charlie and the Chocolate Factory is my favorite.  I prefer the Johnny Depp version when it comes to the movies.  Although, Gene Wilder does a great job, too, but the part on the boat still creeps me out.